


First World Problems

by sarahyellow



Series: Commander's Omega [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: A/B/O Biology, Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Body Dysphoria, Body Worship, Breastfeeding, Childbirth, Circumcision, Clint Barton’s Chartreuse Toenails, Collars, Domestic Disputes, Domestic Fluff, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Fertility Issues, Husbands, Jewish Bucky Barnes, Kid Fic, Light Dom/sub, Love, M/M, Married Sex, Mental Health Issues, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mpreg, Omega Bucky Barnes, Panic Attacks, Parenthood, Past Rape/Non-con, Post Mpreg, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Kink, Pregnant Sex, Self Confidence Issues, foreskin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-16 17:51:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18526585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyellow/pseuds/sarahyellow
Summary: It's been five years since Gilead. Five years of a normal, mostly wonderful life with Steve. Now Bucky's pregnant with their third child and they're mostly just fucking and arguing over circumcisions all the time. "First World Problems," as Bucky always says.





	1. Prenatal

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to note that this fic is happy and fluffy but it also deals with a lot of body issues and insecurities in relation to pregnancy and childbirth. If that's a trigger for you, take heed.

At half past eleven, Bucky is in his workshop in Stark Tower, trying to yank his newest prosthetic overlay onto his metal hand. It’s slow-going.

Two excruciating years of Grad school at MIT have led him to a ridiculously easy job back in New York. Tony basically just lets Bucky tinker around his robotics lab every day, designing cybernetic limbs and accessories to go with them. Most days, it doesn’t feel like a job, and certainly not one he should be getting paid big money for. Bucky gets a huge kick out of the fact that he’s the breadwinner for his family, since he knows Shield doesn’t pay nearly as well.

Tony’s been pushing the photostatic veil prototype as a better option, since it’s easier to use and (slightly) more realistic, but Bucky’s designs are actually in the near-stratosphere of affordable. So since the goal is to actually _allow_ amputees to use them, the board is giving Bucky’s concept priority. It’s been a huge boost to his ego, and a big annoyance to Tony.

Bucky finally gets the sleeve on and smoothed out. This one has sensors that are supposed to help the wearer pick up on tactile input, and that’s what Bucky’s testing out. “Okay,” he murmurs to himself as he goes over to the room’s coffee station and selects a medium roast to pop into the Keurig. He flips the switch to get the machine to turn on. “Let’s see here…” He peers intently as he wiggles his fingers, hoping that he’ll get some sort of feeling from the artificial skin he’s wearing. But nothing comes. Bucky scowls. “Alright,” he grumbles. So plain old movement’s a no. He grabs the Wartenberg wheel that he’d appropriated from his and Steve’s sex toy collection, smirking fondly as he does. Carefully, he rolls the tiny pinwheel over the palm of his left hand. 

The whirring to life of the Keurig somewhat covers up his disappointed sigh. His palm is numb where he should have registered something. Bucky rolls his eyes and chucks the pinwheel aside. He _knows_ that pinwheel pricks, but unlike on other parts of his body, the left hand registers nothing. Bucky scowls and slaps his hands together in a clap. No sensation in the left one other than a vague warmth from the slap. “Fuck.” What a fucking let down. Bucky tries to run that stupid Edison quote about failure through his head again, but it just makes him more annoyed. 

The overlay is a pain in the ass to pull off, so he leaves it on while he goes about fixing his coffee. It’s as he’s grabbing up a mug and a couple of Splenda packets that his phone starts sounding off with Steve’s ringtone. “Jarvis?” Bucky calls out, setting the mug under the Keurig’s spout and pressing the brew button. 

_“Yes, Sir?”_

“Answer that, will you?”

Jarvis picks up the call, and the next thing Bucky hears is Steve’s voice coming off the workshop’s speaker system. “—you there?” he says, making Bucky smile.

“Hey babe,” he greets. “How’re you? Work going alright?” 

Over the line, Steve hums and says, “Yeah. It’s been a pretty low-key morning. Thought I’d pop down there and take you out for lunch. Sound good?”

Bucky picks up the filled mug and takes a test sip—not hot enough. He pops it into the microwave and hits the thirty seconds button. “Eh, not really,” he admits. He looks down at his left hand, where realistic-looking skin covers the metal. “I’ve got a setback I have to deal with. The flesh overlay isn’t registering sensory input like I’d hoped. _Again_.”

Steve is quiet for a couple of beats, then he says, “Okay, speaking of flesh and sensory input,”

Bucky’s countenance darkens immediately. “Are you kidding me? You’re calling me on your lunch break to continue this argument?”

“Just hear me out, okay?” Steve says quickly. “Consent issues aside, it’s just so much sensation you’ll be robbing him of.”

Bucky growls. “I’m not discussing our baby’s foreskin with you while I’m at work, Steve.” He glares at the ceiling, as if his gaze can reach up to Steve’s office, twenty stories above. “Leave it alone.”

On the other end of the line, Steve’s heavy sigh makes a crackling sound. “It’s important Bucky! We’ll be doing him a huge disservice. Circumcision is _wrong_. It’s mutilation of a perfectly healthy body!”

Bucky’s blood is already back to boiling. He and Steve have been debating this issue for the past three months—ever since they found out that the baby Bucky’s having is a boy. “Oh,” he says hotly, “So I guess that means _I’m_ mutilated, huh? That my parents are monsters who just fucked me up. You’ve got the perfect dick and I’m just a victim.”

“God, Bucky! You know that’s not—” 

“Well I’m sorry, Mr. Perfect-Dick Rogers, but this discussion is over. I’m Jewish and Jew trumps everything.” 

“What does that even mean?!”

“It means culture and you’re being insensitive to it!” Bucky stomps his foot and the microwave beeps, and he angrily opens it, grabs the mug of coffee, and promptly curses. “Fuck! Ow!” The mug gets dropped and Bucky’s waving his searing left hand through the air. “Fuck!” 

"What’s going on?” Steve is saying, sounding concerned. “Bucky? Are you alright? Is it the ba—” 

“It’s not the fucking baby Steve!” Bucky yells, a thousand times more pissed off now that he’s in pain. “I burnt my hand. Fuck.” He glares down at the artificial skin, ruefully thinking about how at least the thing can sense temperature. “I gotta go.” Steve tries to say something else, but Bucky just says, “You think about my mother Steve. She’ll never forgive you if our son doesn’t have a bris. And _don’t_ come down here and bother me. Jarvis: end call.” The call cuts off and Bucky crouches to start cleaning up the coffee he’s just spilled across the workshop floor—not easy to do, being whale-sized and all. Bucky grunts in discomfort, not sure what he’s pissed off about more: Steve, the overlay, or his own freaking physical condition. “Shit. Fuck.” 

He’s almost got the whole mess contained when an amused voice pipes up, “Isn’t it ironic, that you were wearing that stupid rubber glove during that conversation?” 

“Shut the fuck up Tony.” 

“No can do,” he calls after him as Bucky heads towards the door. “You shouldn’t even be here! Paternity leave is a thing, you know!” 

Bucky throws him the finger over his shoulder. 

.oOo. 

Bucky does wind up taking his lunch hour, but not with Steve. He and Steve both live and work in the Tower, and Bucky feels like he has to get the fuck out of there for a little while. So he goes and gets a pedicure with Clint. Clint, who’s dating Natasha now and a valued family-friend, thinks it’s hilarious that they’re doing it, but he makes the most of the experience and selects a nervy shade of chartreuse to hand over to the technician when they arrive. Bucky waits until they’re both up in the pedicure chairs, feet soaking in hot water, before he asks, “Are you circumcised?” 

Clint seems to choke on his spit a little, before he laughs and says, “Dude, what the fuck?” 

Bucky offers him a wan smile. “Steve and I have been getting into it over whether we’re gonna; with the baby.” 

“Oh.” Clint nods. “I see.” 

“Pff, yeah.” Bucky thunks his head back against the chair and tries to relax. He picks up the remote and fiddles with the massage settings, moaning when the shiatsu starts kneading his lower back. “Oh, fuuuckyeah.” 

“Shh,” Clint says, laughing and looking around in concern. “We’re in public, jeeze!” 

Bucky shrugs. “Whatever.” He’s enjoying himself. Pedicures aren’t something he would have ever considered doing, before, but they’re one of the gestational package perks he gets through the newly-enacted _Fertility Care Act_ , and Bucky’s always had a penchant for anything with the word “Free” in front of it. So his doula (also free), had hooked him up with the twice-a-month spa service, and Bucky refuses to feel guilty about luxuriating on the government’s dime. As far as he’s concerned, the damned government owes it to him. 

“I take it you’re for and he’s against?” Clint says mildly. 

It takes Bucky a second to pull himself out of his pleasure-induced haze to remember what Clint is talking about. “Oh,” he says. “Yeah.” 

Clint hums. “I dunno. I mean I guess less people are circumcising their kids these days.” Bucky huffs and Clint shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you, man. It’s not common outside the US.” 

“Jewish people everywhere do it,” Bucky says. “It’s a religious thing.” 

“But you’re not religious.” 

Bucky can’t argue that one. “My mom is,” he says. “And I guess I just… I guess it’s just what I’m used to.” He twists his lips, embarrassed to admit, “…I kind of want my kid to look like me.” 

Clint is quiet for a minute. “Maybe Steve feels the same." 

_Ugh_. Goddamn Clint and his fucking levelheadedness. “I want you to take my side,” he grumbles. “Can’t you just do that?” 

Clint rolls his eyes and kicks his feet in the water. “You asked my opinion. I’m giving it.” When he sees that Bucky’s not satisfied by that, Clint levels with him. “Look, man: birthrate’s so low, nobody really cares about your parenting choices that much. Your kid is just gonna be lucky to be born healthy. If you and Steve can’t come to an agreement, what are you really going to do? Sneak the kid off in the night to have it done?” 

Bucky scowls at the ridiculousness of that. “ _No_. Of course not.” 

“Then I guess you just have to think about how important it really is,” Clint says, shrugging and settling back into his chair with his eyes closed. “I mean it’s not the end of the world if you let the kid go au natural. I think it’s supposed to like, improve sex or something.” 

Bucky grits his teeth. If he has to hear that _one more fucking time_. “I have great sex with my dick, thank you very much!” he hisses. The nail technician passing by turns her head in shock, but Bucky just ignores her. 

True to character, Clint is pretty unaffected. He just shrugs and says, “Hey, don’t jump on me. I’m cut too. I wouldn’t know the difference. And honestly?” he peeks over at Bucky. “What guy does?” 

He leaves it at that, clearly not intent on continuing the debate, and Bucky gives up thinking about it. He figures he’s probably a huge hormonal bitch anyways. 

But that doesn’t make him wrong. 

\- 

On the way out of the salon, Bucky’s scanning his FCA card and about to tap the button to tip the nail tech a hefty thirty percent (she’d done a _really_ good job on massaging his feet, and again: it’s the government’s money anyway), when the cashier who’s taking his payment smiles over the counter at him and says, “Ooh, big tummy! when are you due?” 

Bucky offers her the practiced _thank you for noticing that I am indeed as big as a whale_ smile he’s gotten used to throwing out at least twenty times a day and says, “Three weeks, and I can’t wait for it to be over. I’m fucking miserable.” 

“Oh come on sweetie, you’re one of the lucky ones,” the woman says. It rankles Bucky’s nerve a little, but he’s prepared to let it go, until she follows that up by whispering a little, “Blessed be the fruit,” at him, like it’s a private well-wish between just the two of them. 

Bucky’s so shocked that for a moment, he’s just frozen. About a hundred faces float through his head, a hundred instances of vessels, commanders and guardians saying the exact same thing; bad memories, all. The shock wears off though, and his mood goes from _meh_ to _ohfuckno_ in a millisecond. He gapes at her. “What the actual fuck?!” 

The woman shrinks back, looking alarmed. “I’m sorry I—” 

“Don’t ever fucking say that again. To me or anyone else!” Bucky’s blood pressure is suddenly thrumming too fast under his skin, his ears feel like they’re ringing. “God!” He jabs a finger on the payment touchpad, accidently hitting the 5% tip but not caring anymore. “Jesus fucking Christ!” he says, feeling hot and half-way panicked. He can tell that all the other people in the salon are staring at him, and he turns abruptly for the door. The salon manager is hurrying over to ask if everything is okay, but Bucky just pushes past him, snapping that he should “Teach your fucking employees to fucking watch their mouths.” 

It’s only once he’s out on the sidewalk, breathing in the city air and leaning against a brick wall, that he’s able to calm down. He thunks his head against said wall, cursing himself. “Shit.” That’d been a _baad_ overreaction, even for him. Bucky focuses on taking in long, even breaths and letting them back out. His fingers twitch like they’ll reach for his coat pocket, but he knows there isn’t the usual pill case of Xanax in there. He’s not allowed to have it, with the baby. Bucky curses again, the panic and anger from before bleeding out to be swiftly replaced by embarrassment. _Christ_ , what a scene that must’ve been. 

Clint’s whistle is low and impressed as he approaches, coming into view from the salon doors. He walks over to Bucky, toes on display in the foam pedicure shoes. Bucky stares at them. “That was something,” Clint says, peering at Bucky observantly. “You okay?" 

Bucky sighs. _No_. “Yeah. Hearing shit like that just freaks me out so bad. Sets me off.” 

“She was out of line,” Clint offers, clearly trying to make Bucky feel better about his outburst. Bucky just waves him off. 

“I flipped out. Wasn’t right.” 

“Eh, it happens.” Clint gestures for Bucky to start walking with him, and he does. “Don’t feel bad,” Clint says as they flag down a cab and wait for it to pull to the curb. “Come on, I’ll buy you lunch.” 

.oOo. 

At home that evening, Bucky has pulled out everything needed to make seafood linguini and is dumping the pasta into the water to boil, when Darcy walks into the kitchen to chat. “Hey.” 

“Hey,” he says to her. “Good day with the girls?” 

“Mmhm. They did their homework and then it was barbies from then on out.” She says it with a bit of exasperation, which makes Bucky chuckle. Darcy scowls. “You laugh, but it was _three_ hours.” 

“First world problems,” he says. 

“Hm, yeah I guess.” Darcy grabs the table wine and pours herself a glass. She comes over and hops up to sit on the counter next to where Bucky’s cooking. “How ‘bout you? Good day?” 

Bucky inhales and lets it out slowly. “Not exactly. I argued with Steve, burnt my hand, then some lady at the nail salon set me off with Bible talk.” 

Darcy winces. “Ouch. Bible talk?” 

Darcy was in Canada the whole time the regime had power, so Bucky knows she’s got no real grasp of what went on. _Lucky duck_ , he thinks. “Gilead stuff. Something they used to say to us all the time.” His grip on the pasta claw tightens marginally as he thinks about it. “‘Blessed be the fruit’, ugh.” He shudders. “Makes me sick, that there are still obviously people who’d go back to it all in a heartbeat.” Darcy makes a noise of agreement into her wine, and Bucky can’t help but to eye it enviously. “I flipped out on her,” he says. “Felt like I was on the verge of a freaking panic attack.” 

“But you haven’t had one of those in months,” Darcy says, concerned. 

"Yeah well, maybe I’m overdue.” Bucky shakes his head and keeps his focus on the food he’s cooking. He dumps the bowl of mixed shellfish he’d set aside into a pan of oil, turning the burner up. “Can’t fucking take a Xanax with this thing growing in me,” he grumbles. “So I hope I just don’t freak out for the next three weeks. Either that or I pop early, which I definitely wouldn’t mind.” 

Darcy doesn’t say anything to that. She just sits on the counter and sips her wine thoughtfully, eventually asking, “You said you argued with Steve?” 

“Yeah. Same old same old.” Bucky pushes the cooking shrimp around with a bit more roughness than necessary. “He’s so god-damn obstinate.” 

“Oh, I see.” Darcy nods, knowing what he’s talking about. She’s been their fulltime nanny again ever since they moved back to New York, and she’s basically privy to everything in their lives. “The great foreskin debate. To snip or not to snip.” 

Bucky grunts, annoyed at the mere mention of it. “Yeah,” he says. The pasta is boiling by now, so he starts making the sauce in with the seafood. “I don’t think we’re coming to an agreement anytime soon.” 

Darcy hums. “Well on the upside, at least your feet are ballin’.” She nods in approval at Bucky’s naked toes. “I’m digging the purple.” 

Bucky snorts. “Clint picked it.” Darcy’s smiling about that when the front door opens and Steve comes in. His arms are full, holding his keys, suit jacket, briefcase and a bouquet of flowers. Bucky swallows heavily. “Oh, great,” he says under his breath. 

Darcy laughs and hops off the counter, downing the last of her wine. “Looks like he’s sorry,” she says. 

“He fucking should be.” Bucky watches her setting her glass in the sink. “You’re not staying for dinner?” 

“Nope,” she says, popping the ‘p’ with a flourish. “I’ve got a hot date.” 

“Ian?" 

“Yep.” 

Bucky nods in approval. “Give ‘em hell, kid.” 

Darcy salutes him and heads over toward the front entryway, where Steve has set everything but the flowers aside and is fighting off the girls’ excited questions about them. “No, no, they’re for daddy,” he’s saying, smiling in thanks when Darcy comes over to put her coat on and take the girls’ attention away for a moment. Steve makes his way into the kitchen, sliding up to stand close to Bucky. “Hey baby,” he says, pecking a kiss on his cheek. Bucky makes a ‘hmph’ noise but allows it. “These’re for you,” Steve says, laying the flowers down gingerly on the countertop. “Thought they’d make you smile.” 

Bucky would roll his eyes, but he’s a regrettable sap for stupid romantic gestures and Steve knows it. “Thanks,” he says quietly. “That’s sweet.” He keeps most of his attention on the stove in front of him, using the spatula he’s holding to stir the food. 

Steve moves up to stand behind him, caging him in with his body. His chin rests on Bucky’s shoulder as he looks at what Bucky’s cooking. “That smells delicious,” he tells him, bending to press soft kisses against his neck. He lingers at Bucky’s bond mark, and the feeling makes Bucky sigh against his will. 

“Steve…” 

“I’m sorry, Buck,” Steve says, and his voice is a deep, quiet rumble against the skin of Bucky’s neck. “I don’t want to fight with you. You know that, right?” 

Bucky sighs and fights the urge to start in on doing just that. Steve is home now, giving him flowers and kissing him and being sweet, and unlike when they were talking over the phone, Bucky can’t forget that his husband is a wonderful man, despite their difference of opinion on this issue. “I know,” Bucky says, letting his tone gentle. “I know. Me neither.” 

Steve squeezes him at the waist and rubs against him, scent lightening now that he knows he’s not going to be dealing with an angry Bucky. “I love you,” he says. 

“Mm.” 

Steve’s hands slide around to rest on the swell of Bucky’s stomach. “And I love you too,” he says, making Bucky roll his eyes at how damned sappy he is. “What’s it this week?” Steve asks. 

Bucky knows exactly what Steve’s asking because he’s asked every single week of this pregnancy. He’d asked every week when Bucky was pregnant with Sarah, too (or at least, every week he’d been there for it). Bucky turns the burner under the sauce skillet off and pretends to fight to remember what size the baby is now. Steve has an obsession with comparing it to produce. “…Pineapple,” Bucky announces, and Steve’s hands tighten as he hugs him happily. 

“A pineapple,” he repeats in wonder. “Mm, piña coladas.” 

“Ew, you want to juice our baby?” Bucky says casually. It’s a running joke between the two of them. 

“Almost there, babe.” 

Bucky nods, turning off the other burners on the stove and grabbing the pasta pot to take it to the sink and drain. Steve gets out of the way so he can move, and Bucky says, “Yeah. Can’t fucking wait to get this thing out of me.” Steve makes an affronted noise and Bucky says, “ _Language_ ,” at the same exact time that Steve does, because his husband is a predictable dork. “Yeah yeah yeah.” He hefts the now-drained pasta back to the stove and dumps the sauce and seafood into it. “Put the garlic bread in the oven, Mr. Language Police, and tell the girls to come to the table.” 

Steve grumbles but he does peck one last kiss to Bucky’s hair. “Sir, yes Sir.” 

\- 

“When is the baby coming out?” 

“Are you sure it’s not a girl?” 

“Yeah are you _sure_ it can’t be a girl?” 

Bucky smiles from over his pasta and lets Steve handle this latest round of questioning. 

“That’s not how it works, honey,” Steve is saying. “You don’t get to pick if it’s going to be a girl or a boy. It’s random.” 

“What’s ‘random’?” 

“How big is a pineapple?" 

Bucky snorts, but his mirth is short-lived, because Becca might just want to know how big a pineapple is, but _Sarah’s_ got bigger ambitions. She opens her mouth and asks the question that he and Steve have been dreading, the one they’ve miraculously avoided his whole pregnancy. _The_ question. 

“What makes a baby?” 

Steve stops chewing, the relaxed look sliding right off his face as his eyes shoot over to Bucky. Bucky purses his lips at Steve’s obvious passing of the issue over to him. He and Steve have never had a real conversation about how they’ll discuss sex with the girls, once they start asking. Bucky feels very put on the spot. “Um,” he says, swallowing and setting his fork down. Sarah is blinking big, expectant eyes at him, Becca too. “Well, honey,” he says. “Babies grow in the mommy’s tummy. You know that.” 

Sarah nods. “Yeah. And the daddy’s tummy.” 

Bucky nods. “Yep. Um…” he huffs, gives Steve an exasperated look that clearly tells him Bucky thinks he’s a coward for not stepping up to take the lead in this conversation, then continues explaining to Sarah, “Yeah. Mommies and daddies—daddies and papas—when they’re mates and they love each other very much, then they can make a baby, if they want to.” Bucky says a silent prayer that this’ll satisfy her, but of course it doesn’t. 

“But _how_?” 

_Ugh_. Bucky grits his teeth, cursing the fact that his daughter has to be such a know-it-all. _Magic_ , he wants to tell her. _Praying, wishing, osmosis, astrophysics_. But he goes with the truth. “Sex makes a baby.” Sarah’s next question is predictable, and Bucky looks plaintively at his husband (who is entirely unhelpful) before firming his resolve enough to say, “When grownups are in love, they kiss and naked touch each other because it feels good, and that’s what makes a baby.” 

Sarah blinks, absorbs this, then says, “But… I kiss Grandma. And I take naked baths with Becca.” 

Steve busts out laughing and Bucky can’t help a small smile as well. “Yeah no honey. That’s not the same. Only grownups have sex.” He looks at her seriously and tells her, “It’s wrong for anybody to try and naked touch you, or Becs. Only me or papa or…” he thinks, “Or grandma or a doctor can naked touch you. And that’s still not sex.” 

“Then how come—” 

Bucky cuts her off. “Remember how we talked about which body parts are for showing and which ones are for private?” Both Sarah and Becca nod. Bucky sighs. “Well sex is when two grownups touch private parts. Nobody is allowed to touch children’s private parts for sex. It’s very wrong and you should yell ‘NO’ if anybody ever tries. Then you tell papa or me right away, okay?” 

Both girls are quiet for a moment, and then Becca asks, “So I can’t touch my private parts?” 

Bucky shoots up from the table. “I can’t. I just fucking can’t.” He looks pleadingly at Steve as he sets his napkin down and makes to leave. “Babe? You got this?" 

Steve stutters some response, but Bucky only half-hears it. He’s in their bedroom with the door closed by the time Steve takes his whack at explaining sex and good touch/bad touch to their daughters. 

\- 

Bucky stares at his reflection in the mirror. He doesn’t really like looking at himself naked, not like this. He’s close to his due date, only three weeks away, and the last time he’d been this heavily pregnant he’d been locked up in a cell in a military bunker with no choice over what happened to him, his body, or to his baby. 

Bucky’s always known he wanted more kids with Steve, loves having kinky "gonna knock you up" sex. He’s just not super-into the whole process of actually _growing_ the babies. Sure, he’d been a little thrilled when he’d taken a test back in November and seen the two blue lines show up, but being this heavily pregnant, seeing the changes in his body… It just makes him feel odd. It’s foreign, gives him an overwhelming sense of being out of control and definitely not happy with himself. And it’s not about being fat, which is the confusing thing. 

He’s talked it out with his therapist, who refers to it as dysphoria and tells him that it makes complete sense, given what Bucky’s been through in the past. Bucky agrees, but he still feels guilty about it; like he’s less of an omega for not loving every second of the experience. Like maybe he’s less of a father to the baby he’s carrying. Bucky eyes himself critically in the mirror for a second longer, before blowing air through his teeth and telling himself to “Fucking get over it, Barnes.” 

And since he can’t have Xanax and he can’t fucking have any wine, he goes through the trouble of lighting all the scented candles in the bathroom and putting some guided meditation music on. When the bathtub is filled, he pours in the lavender essential oils that Pepper gave him for Christmas, then slips inside. 

The water is about 1000 degrees less hot than he’d like it to be ( _just another lovely perk of pregnancy_ , he thinks) but it is warm, and it soothes the sore muscles in his lower back. It’s relaxing, and he finds himself more than a little sleepy by the time he dries off and pulls on his oversized nightshirt and gets into bed. Steve isn’t there yet, and Bucky barely has the energy to plug his phone in and set the alarm before he’s drifting off. 

\- 

He wakes up to the ~~peaceful soft chimes~~ sounds from HELL that are his alarm ringtone. He groans, flopping one hand out to make it stop. The alarm does stop, but it’s with a disturbing crunching sound. Bucky groans without picking up his head. “Fuck.” 

Steve must already be awake, because his voice sounds alert from his spot in the bed when he says, “Break another one?” 

Bucky peeks his eyes open to get a glimpse of where his metal hand has cracked the screen of yet _another_ StarkPhone. “Yeah,” he croaks, pulling his arm back and rolling over in the bed to face Steve. His husband is laying down on his side facing Bucky. He’s all soft and sleepy-looking in the morning light, and Bucky’s guts do a fond flip. …or the baby kicks. One or the other. “Hey,” he says softly, settling in close and letting Steve pull their bodies together and start scenting his neck. “Mm, how’d you sleep?” he asks, yawning hugely. 

“Good,” Steve murmurs. He peeks over Bucky’s shoulder at the nightstand and the ruined phone. “We’ve gotta switch sides of the bed,” he says wryly. 

“M’yeah,” Bucky agrees. It’s something they’ve been saying for over a year now, because when Bucky sleeps on the left side he swipes out with his left hand, every time. Seven StarkPhones later, though, they still haven’t. “Tomorrow,” he says, and smiles with his eyes closed when he hears Steve’s exasperated laugh. “S’the weekend anyways. Don’t need to get up early.” _Enough time to replace his phone before another workday_ , Buck thinks. 

“C’mere, you,” Steve mumbles possessively into Bucky’s skin, tugging him closer, even though they’re already as close as they can physically be. 

Bucky throws a leg over Steve’s hip. “Caveman,” he scolds. “M’right here.” 

Steve growls and grabs Bucky’s ass and hauls him in closer, as if to prove a point, and he buries his face in his neck again and puts effort into licking and nipping his bondmark while he rubs his very prominent erection against the underside of Bucky’s belly. “Mm,” he hums, breathing deeply in sleepy satisfaction. “You smell so damned good. Like baking bread or something.” 

Bucky chuckles. “Well I do have a bun in the oven.” 

“Yeah.” Steve’s hands roam down to said bun, his fingers quickly grabbing at the fabric of his nightshirt as if to pull it up. “Take this off.” 

Bucky whines and rolls over, his back to Steve. “Nooo.” He shoves weakly at Steve but doesn’t fight him off when he’s pulled fully back against him. Bucky hums. He likes Steve’s cock against his ass much more. He pushes back against it, just to make Steve grunt and smell the arousal that rushes off him at the move. “Just lift it up,” he says in reference to his night shirt. He’s as big as a whale and he can barely stand to look at himself in the mirror these days. He definitely doesn’t want Steve to see him. From behind, he can hear the growl that rumbles low in Steve’s throat. It’s not playful like before. This one’s the real deal—the kind that only an alpha can make. 

“I want to see you,” he says, and it’s clear that he’s gearing up for a fight. 

So Bucky purposefully whines sweetly in his throat in the way that only an omega can do, and rubs back even harder against Steve’s dick. “Doesn’t matter, want you now,” he husks, reaching to pull the shirt up just enough for Steve’s cock to touch his skin instead of fabric. “Feel me, baby,” he says, making his voice low and needy in the way he knows will go to Steve’s head (among other places). “Feel me, I’m so wet. Want you inside me.” He rubs back, allowing Steve’s dick to rub in the valley of his ass. Bucky is, indeed, wet, and his obvious arousal makes Steve groan and his hands shoot to hold him possessively at the hips. 

“Fuck, Bucky,” he says, and he’s humping gently against his ass, face back to being buried in his neck. It’s the side opposite Bucky’s bondmark but Steve molests the scent gland there just the same. “You’re so good, honey. So fucking sexy.” 

Bucky hums, glad that Steve has dropped the issue of the shirt. Absentmindedly, he reaches down to palm his cock with his metal hand. “Come on,” he urges, rubbing against Steve and feeling more desperate for it now than he had even a minute ago. “I want it.” 

Steve likes his begging, always has, and so he chuckles and teases him for a little longer, making Bucky ask twice more before he acquiesces and slips inside of him. When he’s fully-seated, he holds their bodies tightly together as they both pant at the feeling. 

“Fuck,” Bucky breathes, fingers twining with Steve’s own where he’s holding his hip. “Oh, _Steve_.” 

Steve kisses his shoulder. “Love you,” he says, so quiet that it’s tender. 

Bucky feels emotion sweep over him at that, suddenly and intensely in a way that he _knows_ is due to the fact that he’s hormonal as fuck. He sniffs and squeezes his eyes shut, not wanting to cry for no reason. “Love you, Stevie,” he says, then pushes back where they’re joined. “Now fuck me.” 

Steve doesn’t have to be told twice. He starts to fuck Bucky, still holding him just as tightly against his body, still keeping his face buried in Bucky’s neck. Bucky doesn’t have much leverage to move. He just lets Steve hold him close and move them together, making the pleasure grow like a living thing, their panting breaths against the sheets and the faint slapping of their skin the only sounds. 

It’s quiet, and it’s primal, and it makes Bucky forget about everything that’s been bothering him. All he can focus on is the hot, hard length of Steve as it penetrates him, over and over again. The short thrusts Steve gives him are perfect; rhythmic and firm and just really _rocking_ over that spot that feels so good for Bucky. It’s the one upside to being this far along, that his insides are so fucking crowded that his prostate is _right_ where Steve’s dick wants to be, whenever they have sex. It’s amazing. 

Bucky’s making soft, pleasured sounds now, unable to keep them in check as the coil in his belly tightens. Steve’s just doing it so fucking _right_ , fucking into his body and making him feel so good he can hardly stand it. It makes Bucky want to sob. It makes him want to come. “Fuck,” he whimpers into the sheets. “Fuck, _fuck_ Steve. _Please_.” He can’t make Steve fuck him harder, or faster. He can’t do anything. He reaches for his cock, frustrated when the angle is wrong and his goddamned body just gets in the way. It’s the frustration rather than the pleasure that makes tears prick at the corners of his eyes. “Stevie,” he pleads, voice pinched and needy, “I can’t, I can’t.” A sob finally escapes. 

Steve is immediately attentive, wrapping his arms further around his body and nuzzling into his hair with soothing sounds. “Shh, what’s wrong baby? I’ll give you what you need. What do you want?” His hips don’t stop pumping as he soothes him, his hands don’t stop roving over his chest, his belly. “What do you want, sweetheart?” 

“Wanna _come_!” Bucky all but wails. He tosses his head, knowing that his hair is probably getting all in Steve’s face but not caring. “Please, please _please_.” 

“Shh,” Steve hushes against his neck. “You don’t have to beg baby. You don’t ever have to beg. I’m gonna make you feel good.” He kisses him over his unscarred scent gland. “So fucking good.” 

Bucky would whine and thrash and complain some more, but then Steve starts fucking him harder, _deeper_ , and his big hand is reaching around and finding Bucky’s dick and jacking him off in quick little strokes over the head, and Bucky just _howls_ , seizes up, and starts to come. 

His body clenching down on Steve’s must get him close, because by the time Bucky is panting through the last aftershocks of his orgasm, Steve is breathing hard against his ear. His fingers have abandoned Bucky’s cock and are digging into the skin of his inner thigh, bruising-hard and wet with Bucky’s come. Bucky groans at the sensation. 

“Bucky,” Steve huffs out, sounding absolutely blissed. “Fuck, Bucky. I’m gonna come. Can I? Please baby can I?” He babbles the question over a couple times more, and Bucky knows he’s not asking permission to come, but to knot him. 

He nods, feeling like a wrung-out sponge as Steve fucks into him, so close. “Yeah,” Bucky says. “Yeah baby you can.” 

Steve groans like he’s dying and like _that’sallhe’severwanted_ , and he buries his face into Bucky’s neck and his knot into Bucky’s hole, and a second later they’re tied and Steve is coming buckets inside his body. Bucky luxuriates in the absolutely filthy feeling, in the equally filthy sound that is his alpha, groaning through his climax. 

\- 

“You okay?” Steve asks, being careful not to jostle Bucky or tug against their tie, just in case Bucky _isn’t_ okay. 

“Yeah,” Bucky whispers, eyes closed and feeling sleepy even though his cock is hard again and arousal is back to thrumminig just underneath his skin. “You’re good,” he tells Steve, because he knows the lug won’t stop worrying until Bucky reassures him. 

Bucky doesn’t always like being knotted outside of his heats. Like the physical effects of pregnancy or red-colored clothing, it can sometimes freak him out, so Steve always asks. But Bucky doesn’t feel at all triggered by it now. He just feels sated and warm. “Stevie,” Bucky hums lowly, tired but pretty sure he wants to come again. “Fuck me some more?” He pushes his hips back against their tie, grinding Steve inside him. 

Steve hisses, his hands flying back to Bucky’s hips. “Fuck.” Bucky laughs at him and that makes Steve bite his neck punishingly. “Is that how you ask nicely?” he grumbles. 

“No, it’s how I demand to get what I want,” Bucky tells him, not stopping his grinding even though Steve’s trying to hold him still. “I’m carrying your spawn, now make me feel good." 

Steve makes some noise that approximates annoyance, but his scent lets Bucky know it’s all a big act. Steve has always loved making him come apart. He starts moving his hips, pulsing his knot inside Bucky until he’s crying out in orgasm again. 

\- 

Later, when Steve’s knot has gone down and Bucky truly _is_ pliant, Steve manages to get Bucky’s shirt off him. Bucky squirms in a vague protest, refusing to open his eyes as Steve tips him onto his back and sinks down the bed, kissing his belly as he goes. Steve’s big hands ghost over his chest, which makes Bucky whine and turn his face into the covers. “Ouch. Watchit.” 

Steve rubs his chest a little harder, growling possessively and rubbing his check against Bucky’s belly. “Gonna have tits again soon,” he teases, because he's a sonofabitch who likes to make Bucky furious for fun. 

“Fuck you,” Bucky says, though it’s lacking any enthusiasm. Steve is laughing below him and Bucky hums and deigns to run his hands through Steve’s hair. “What’re you doing?” he asks, though he knows full well what his husband is doing, the stupid lug. 

“M’looking at you,” Steve says. Both of his big, warm palms trail down to land on either side of his stomach. Holding him like he’s holding their baby that’s not even born yet. 

Bucky feels a blush start up in his cheeks. “Steeeve,” 

“Hush. Let me.” Steve rubs his skin. “I know you hate it but I love it. Never got to see you this big when you were pregnant with Sarah.” Steve sounds like he’s in wonder, and just as expected, when Bucky opens his eyes it’s to see Steve regarding his body like it’s the fucking Mona Lisa. “God,” he’s saying, “I love it.” 

Bucky squirms again, having just about reached his tolerance level. “Please,” he says, and it might be the tone of his voice or it might be his most-likely distressed scent, but either way Steve gets the message. 

He crawls back up, pulling the sheets up as well in apology. He tucks them around Bucky’s body, kissing him on the cheek and pulling him in close to snuggle. “I’m sorry,” he says. “You know I like to look.” 

Bucky makes a grumpy sound, but the itchy feeling from having Steve stare is fading away. “S’okay,” he mumbles. His eyes trail over Steve’s body, appreciating his naked form. He stops at Steve’s cock, which by now is laying soft against his thigh. Bucky stares and Steve notices. He chuckles. 

“Can’t get it up that fast, Buck.” 

Bucky twists his lips wryly, not looking away from Steve’s soft prick. “M’not thinking about sex,” he says. What he’s thinking about is foreskin; in-particular, Steve’s. His eyes trace of the shape of him, how he can just barely see the outline of the head beneath the soft-looking skin. Whenever Steve gets hard, it thins and pulls back to reveal him—a novelty Bucky has always liked but never admitted to. He licks his lips as he thinks about it, feeling a strange sort of consternation at his husband. “You’re not going to fucking change your mind, are you?” he says. 

Steve tenses, realizing what Bucky’s about now. He meets his eyes. “No, babe. I’m sorry. You know how I feel about it." 

Bucky huffs, sighing and scrubbing his hands over his face. “Why couldn’t it just be a girl?” he groans. 

Steve shushes him. “C’mon now, we were both hoping for a boy and you know it.” 

Bucky grunts in acknowledgement. He pulls his hands down and stares at Steve’s cock again, this time looking at it like it’s personally offended him. “Do you think I’m less, or something?” he asks. “Because I am?” He knows his cock is small but it’s still fucking relevant. 

Steve thinks so too and his growl makes that clear. He hugs Bucky against him possessively. “Of course not! You’re perfect.” 

“Well then why does it matter so much?” 

Steve sighs into his hair, and it’s a long moment of him thinking before he says, “It’s about consent, Buck. It’s about bodily autonomy. I want our baby to have that.” The words make Bucky stiffen in Steve’s hold, and he notices. He nods against the top of Bucky’s head. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah you know what it’s like not to have that.” On Bucky’s shoulder, he strokes his thumb where metal meets flesh. “You know what it’s like to have people do things to you without asking permission, to change your body in ways that you can’t change back.” The hand leaves his arm to go up and trace his ear, where the top of it is cut off, cragged scar tissue left behind. Bucky whines and tips his head to get his hair to fall back over the ear. Steve kisses him on the mouth, quieting and sweet. When he pulls back, Bucky feels quelled, if only somewhat. 

“That’s not fair,” he croaks, even though deep down he knows that it kind of is. 

“Isn’t it?” Steve says. His tone is gentle. Maybe he can tell that Bucky’s caving in. “Can you disagree?” he asks. “Can you really give a good reason, other than how pissed your mother’s gonna be?” 

Bucky sighs, because _no_ , he really can’t. He’s about to get grumpy about that, or maybe about the feeling of Steve’s cum trickling out of his ass, but before he can, the bedroom door bangs open and two small people are bursting in, a tray of food precariously held in Becca’s hands and Sarah following with a pitcher of orange juice. “Daddy!” they both cheer. “We made you breakfast!” 

Bucky half sits up, hugging the sheet to his chest as Steve scrambles to yank the comforter over himself. “Aw, girls,” he says, smiling for about two seconds before he catches sight of (and more importantly, the _smell_ of) burnt toast and eggs on the tray. He swallows heavily, stomach flipping. “Steve!” he yelps, grabbing the sheets tightly about himself as he gets off the bed as quickly as he can. “Eggs!” 

He runs into the bathroom, the end of the sheets getting stuck in the door when he slams it shut behind him. Between bouts of hurling, he hears Steve gently telling the girls that _“No, no, it was a great surprise. Daddy loved it!”_


	2. Postnatal

One week later, their son is born, weighing in at a sturdy seven pounds, three ounces, and he’s perfectly healthy. It’s Steve’s idea to call him Gabriel, and Bucky comes around only when Steve swears a solemn oath to only ever call the poor kid Gabe.

It’s eleven thirty in the morning, after nine hours of labor, and Bucky’s resting in his hospital bed. Gabe is wrapped in the blue fleece blanket and cap that the nurses put him in once he was cleaned up, and he just looks so damned _small_ cradled in the crook of Bucky’s metal arm—so fragile and helpless. Bucky fixes and re-fixes the folds of the blanket around Gabe’s face, smiling when one of his tiny hands grabs onto his finger. “Strong like your daddy,” he murmurs, using his other hand to card through the baby’s fine hair. “And blond like your papa.” Gabe gives a big yawn, and Bucky groans and flops his head back against the bed’s propped-up pillows. “Me too kid, me too.” 

He falls asleep for a while, and when he wakes up it’s to the sound of multiple people in the room. Bucky opens his eyes, startled. “What the fuck?”

Steve whirls around from where he’s trying to control everybody, eyes panicked and apologetic. “I told them all they needed to take turns, but they wouldn’t listen!”

In Bucky’s arms, Gabe snuffles and squirms a little. Everybody in the room (and that’s Pepper, Tony, Clint, Natasha, Sam, Sharon, Darcy, Sarah, Becca, the _other_ Becca, Trudy and Dennis, Clair and her wife, _and_ Winnifred) turns to stare at Bucky and the baby. Bucky raises an incredulous hand to wave at them all. Counting Steve, himself and the baby, there are eighteen people in the room.

The daytime nurse comes in and _flips out_.

-

Bucky spends some time introducing Gabe to Sarah and Becca, and then Steve takes them to get lunch in the hospital’s cafeteria while Clair (the most responsible of Bucky’s three siblings) put herself in charge of arranging shifts. Winnie, Bucky’s sisters and their spouses get first dibs, and they’re in the room for a good forty minutes before Bucky convinces them it’s Clint, Nat, Sam and Sharon’s turn. Tony, Pepper and Darcy compromise the final wave, and after ten minutes of Tony, Bucky is truly and officially beat. He flops his head back into the pillow, groaning in relief when Steve returns alone and it’s just the two of them again. “I think we know too many people,” he complains, which makes Steve laugh. 

He comes closer to the bed and pets a hand through Bucky’s messy hair. “Gotta brush this,” he says.

“Mm.” Bucky’s actually thinking he might cut it off, maybe when they get home from the hospital and are settled, but he hasn’t made up his mind. His one ear is pretty messed-up, and the other has a very tell-tale scar from where the second red tag had been removed. Bucky knows most people would be able to tell what the scars were from, if they saw them. “I think Clair brought a brush,” he says absentmindedly. He’s looking down at Gabe again, admiring his absolutely perfect face, his pink skin and his features that remind Bucky of Steve already. “He looks like you,” Bucky mumbles. _Aaand_ his eyes are watering again, fuck. 

Steve makes a pleased sound. “Maybe.”

“He does.” Bucky feels a tear leak out and he brushes it away quickly. “He’s bigger than Sarah was when she was born.” Steve doesn’t say anything to that, and Bucky knows it’s because he has no basis for comparison. Sarah had been three months old by the time Steve got to meet her. Bucky tries not to think about that because he knows it’ll just make him sad when he knows that he should be nothing but happy. He’s certainly happy that he got to have his baby in a real hospital this time, with a team of actual obstetricians. …and actual epidurals. Bucky sighs as he thinks of it. Drugs are _good_ , especially when something the size of Gabe’s head is coming out of you. _Ugh_. He is _so_ glad that’s over with. Bucky looks up at Steve, who is still smiling like a loon. “We did it,” he whispers, voice on the verge of tears again.

Steve sinks down onto the bed and wraps his arms around Bucky, kissing his temple. “ _You_ did it, Buck. I’m so proud of you.”

-

Visiting hours eventually come to a close and Darcy and Bucky’s mom take the girls home, promising to get them to bed at a decent time. Bucky only snorts, wishing them luck but having no confidence in the possibility of that. Steve snags a hospital pillow and some blankets to use to make a temporary bed in the room’s recliner, even though Bucky swears up and down that he’d be fine if Steve wanted to go home for the night. Steve just growls at the suggestion and tells him not to be ridiculous.  
Early the next morning, Steve leaves to get coffee and breakfast and Bucky’s left alone with Gabe. One of the nurses comes in and gently takes the baby out of Bucky’s arms with a smile. “Here we go, sweetheart,” she croons to him. “You come with me so your daddy can get some rest.”

Bucky yawns, smiling as he watches the nurse place Gabe back in the plastic bassinet. “Back to the nursery?” he asks.

“No. Just rolling him down to an exam room real quick, then I’ll bring him back,” the nurse tells him. “We’re going to go find out what this little cutie’s designation is!” She coos it at Gabe, not Bucky, tickling her fingers against his tummy and not paying Bucky any mind. 

But Bucky has stiffened up, completely alert at the woman’s words. “No,” he says, voice hard. “No I don’t want that.”

The nurse looks back up, still smiling but confused now. “Hm?”

“I _said_ , I don’t want that. You’re not testing him.” Bucky holds his hands out, the IV that’s still taped to the back of his flesh hand pulling uncomfortably. He ignores it. “Give him here.”

The nurse is taken aback, but she does lift Gabe back out of the bassinet and bring him over to Bucky. Once Bucky’s got him cradled in his arms again, the nurse says, “Um, sorry. It’s just standard procedure.” She bites her lip. “Parents usually like to know, when the babies aren’t…” 

Bucky nods. “When they’re healthy, I know. But my husband and I don’t want to know. We want to find out the old-fashioned way.” Ridiculous that he can call it such. It shouldn’t _be_ old fashioned. It hadn’t been, ten or fifteen years ago. “Kids should just be allowed to be kids,” Bucky tells the nurse tightly. 

She frowns, but she doesn’t push the issue, which Bucky appreciates. He thinks he might flip out on her if she did. He’s fucking _done_ with people pushing medical decisions on him. Never again. “Okay,” she simply says as she leaves the room. “I’ll mark it down on his chart and yours, so nobody else comes to get him for that.”

Bucky nods. “Good. Thank you.”

The nurse leaves and Bucky’s left to sigh down at Gabe. He blinks his big, newborn-blue eyes back up at him., and Bucky wonders if they’ll darken to brown or if they’ll stay that way, like Sarah’s. “Bullet dodged,” he tells him. Gabe just gurgles and squirms. Bucky picks him up, but he just gets more and more squirmy, whining. “What’s wrong, hm?” Bucky asks. He pats Gabe’s diaper, but it feels dry. “You hungry buddy?”

He has to shuffle around to get his hospital gown open, but eventually he gets his chest bared and guides Gabe to his nipple. He’s just gotten him in place and is holding him against his chest, when Steve comes back in the room. Bucky’s eyes shoot over. “Hey,” he says, blushing. He tries to surreptitiously cover himself better, but can tell that Steve notices. 

Steve smiles that new, happy-proud father look that’s not at all faded yet. “Hey.” He holds up the tray he’s brought. “Real breakfast, not that crap they bring you poor saps.” He comes over and sits on the edge of the bed, laying the tray down carefully and opening plastic cutlery and other things. “Didn’t know what you wanted, so I kinda got…”

“Everything?” Bucky says, lips quirking. The tray is close to overflowing. “Looks good babe.”

Steve is staring at Gabe, at where he’s latched onto Bucky’s chest. He reaches out and touches the fine hairs on top of Gabe’s head. “He’s so perfect,” he amazes, eyes full of nothing but love. It’s pouring off him in waves and it makes Bucky smile. 

“Yeah,” he agrees.

Steve hums, the hand he’d placed on Gabe’s head travelling up to curve around Bucky’s neck. He strokes his thumb just under Bucky’s ear, grinning when it makes him purr. “You’re perfect,” he tells him. Bucky blushes and tries to turn his face down, but Steve just tips his chin back up. “No, Bucky. Look at me.” The very subtle hint of an alpha’s command is there, compelling Bucky to listen to Steve and lift his eyes back up. Steve makes a pleased sound. “Good.”

“ _Steve_ ,” 

“Shh.” Steve leans over the tray of food and pecks his lips against Bucky’s. “Look at you,” he says, when he’s pulled away and their faces are close together, Gabe just below. “Look how amazing you are.” One of Steve’s hands comes down and joins Bucky’s where it’s cradling Gabe against his chest. Bucky whines at the intimate gesture and Steve hushes him again, pressing his face into Bucky’s neck, his nose behind Bucky’s ear as he scents him. “You’re feeding our _son_ , Bucky,” he says, voice low and possessive. “Do you have any idea how beautiful that is? How much I want you right now?”

Bucky groans miserably. “Oh my god Steve, don’t—”

“When we get home,” Steve tells him, voice still quiet and deceptively calm. “I’m going to show you just how much I love you. Do you understand?”

Bucky gulps. And even though he’s honestly too damned tired (and sore) to be aroused, he still feels that soul-deep pleasure that only Steve has ever been able to elicit, roll through him. “Yes, Alpha,” he whispers.

-

They still keep armed guards posted outside of nurseries, just like when Bucky’s sister Elsa had been born. It’s a bad memory that Bucky fights off as he sits in the wheelchair that the hospital staff is _insisting_ he be moved in. He’s dressed to go home. Steve is standing behind, holding the wheelchair’s handles and Bucky’s duffle slung over his shoulder. Bucky can’t quite see over the glass windows into the nursery. All he’s got a good view of is the armed guard and his black clothing and his gun. It makes Bucky feel very, very uncomfortable, reminds him of guardians of the faith who used to police everything.

That’s not what this is, he reminds himself, trying hard not to get shifty as they wait longer than he would like for the nurses to bring Gabe out. The birthrate hasn’t changed, unfortunately. Severely deformed babies—what the regime had deemed ‘Shredders’—are still being born (Clair’s wife had had a baby that died earlier that year). They don’t tend to live more than a few days. Healthy babies like Gabe are worth their weight in platinum—and they’re guarded like it. Bucky purses his lips as they wait. “What’s taking so long?” he asks Steve, frustrated and antsy. 

Steve places a calming hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. They’re bringing him now.”

Soon the door opens and Gabe is delivered into Bucky’s arms. He’s dressed in a onesie that’s too big for him and that says “Little brother” on the front of it. Bucky grins and says, “God, the girls are going to be _awful_ today.”

Steve laughs. “Yeah. Hope you got a good night’s sleep.”

“Is Darcy staying?”

“Stupid question,” Steve tells him fondly, which just means, _‘of course’_. 

Bucky hums. “Good.”

Steve starts pushing the wheelchair, and they take the elevator down. “Your mom’s at home too. I told her she could use the guest room for a few days, if she wants.”

Bucky groans. “Nooo. You didn’t!”

“I’m sorry babe, but you know how she is,” Steve says, sounding defensive. “She already had her bags in the front hall anyway. She was wearing her bedazzled _‘Grandma’_ tee-shirt. What was I supposed to do?”

Bucky sighs, imagining how overbearing his mother is going to be these next few days. “You have to help me tell her to leave,” he bemoans. “She cannot be living with us when she finds out we’re not having a bris.”

The wheelchair jerks to a stop, and Steve inhales sharply. “Oh…”

“Yeah,” Bucky says sharply. “That.”

“Shoot.”

Bucky shakes his head and looks down at his son. Gabe is wide awake but calm, blinking his big eyes up at him. “Your papa just doesn’t think, sometimes,” he says in his best baby voice, which he’s had in storage since Sarah turned one but has now broken out and brushed off for new usage. Bucky tickles Gabe’s foot and says, “And your Meemaw is going to flip her shit when she finds out about your penis.”

Steve snorts and puts the brakes on the wheelchair (because he’s a dork), before he heads towards the sliding glass doors to go get the car. “Language,” he calls back over his shoulder.

.oOo.

A state representative for the _Fertility Care Act_ is already in the apartment when they walk through the door, and it’s not a stranger. Steve sets the bags down and Bucky holds Gabe closer to his chest. “Ms. Hill,” he says. “Who let you in here?”

Maria Hill stands from their living room couch, hands brushing down the front of her already-smooth business skirt. “Your mother, I believe.”

Bucky frowns. “Where is she?”

“Everyone stepped out,” Maria says. “For ice cream, I believe it was.” She looks at the ceiling, “Right, Jarvis?”

_“Yes, Mam.”_

Bucky scowls. “Please don’t talk to my AI.”

Maria raises an eyebrow but says nothing to that. She steps forward, sparing the blue bundle in Bucky’s arms a quick glance. “Congratulations on your new baby,” she says.

Steve _stinks_ of possessiveness, and his hand curls over Bucky’s shoulder in a show of that. “Thank you,” he says.

“Down, boy,” Bucky murmurs. He moves further into the apartment, walking around Maria and sitting down on the couch. He’s exhausted anew, just from the trip home. “What do you want?” he says. It’s rude, but Maria has been a weird presence in his life ever since the government got wind that he was pregnant for the _fourth_ time in his life. It’s unnerving, to know that he’s flagged in somebody’s system like that. 

Maria comes back to the living room and sits opposite him, leaving Steve in the hallway to decide what to do with himself. “I’m here to check in on you,” Maria tells Bucky. “I wanted to make sure you felt satisfied by the services provided leading up to and during your delivery.”

Bucky sighs, but nods. “Yeah, yeah it’s all been fine.”

Maria raises her eyebrow again. Hand pulling a stylus off the side of her StarkPad, she holds it poised as if she’ll take notes if Bucky has any complaints. “‘Fine’?” she asks.

“Good. It’s all been good.” Bucky shifts Gabe more comfortably in his arms and looks at Maria. “I don’t know what you want me to say. The doula was great. Free healthcare was great.” He snorts. “And hey, the pedicures were a nice cherry on top.”

Maria nods. “Good. I’m glad. Now, have you been appraised for postnatal services? To see what you qualify for?” 

That’s when Steve walks into the living room. He’s got a glass of water and trades it off to Bucky for the baby. Bucky takes it, smiling at him in thanks. “What we qualify for?” Steve asks. He sits down next to Bucky, wrapping the arm that isn’t holding Gabe behind his husband’s back. 

“Yes.” Maria taps the stylus across the tablet’s screen. “You now have three healthy children between the two of you, you’re in a stable, bonded marriage and you’re in a high-income bracket.”

Steve frowns. “So?”

Maria blinks at him. “You’re the kind of people who make babies.” Steve ‘hmphs’, but doesn’t say anything, so Maria goes on, referencing her tablet as she goes. “You definitely qualify for subsidized childcare, probably lowered taxes, too. Private school options are negotiable, depending on what’s available and what your family’s religious preferences are”—Bucky raises _both_ eyebrows at this—“and I think I could get mandatory civil service duties—things like jury duty—waived. At least for you, Mr. Rogers,” she says, nodding at Bucky. “If not for your husband as well.”

“It’s Barnes-Rogers,” Steve corrects firmly, which Bucky appreciates. “And what exactly is the government asking of us in exchange for all of this?” 

Maria gives him a _look_. “The Fertility Care Act was passed to _incentivize_ fertility. The two of you are in the ninetieth percentile, nationwide.”

“You can’t ask us to have more children,” Bucky says, ready to be indignant. “Or coerce us.” 

“It’s not coercion, Mr. _Barnes-Rogers_. It’s statistics. People who are socially and financially well-off find it easier to fit more children into their lifestyle than those who aren’t. The FCA just makes it easier for you to reproduce, should you _wish_ to.” 

Well. Bucky sits, tight-lipped, unable to offer any retort to that. “Well fine,” he says. “But you don’t have to be here, breathing down our necks. You can email me this stuff.”

Maria nods, standing as she seems to know that her welcome (however slim it had been to begin with) is over. “Yes,” she says. “I can.” She looks at Steve. “Your husband is entitled to more services than you, as the childbearing parent, but there are still plenty of—”

“You can just email me the info, too,” Steve says curtly. 

“I’ll show myself out, then.” 

Bucky exhales once the door shuts behind her. He looks exasperatedly to Steve. “Jesus!”

“It’s gonna be okay now,” Steve says, soothing him. “She’s just trying to help. It’s a little aggressive, sure but—”

“It’s fucking creepy, is what it is.” Bucky can tell that Steve fights to keep his usual _‘language’_ reprimand in. _Good_ , he thinks. He’s grumpy again and not in the mood to be told he can’t curse around his one-day old infant. Bucky throws back some of the water, then sets the glass aside. He snuggles up against Steve’s side, grumbling when Steve wraps his arm back around him. “I still don’t like it,” he complains. “It’s too much like before.”

Steve knows what Bucky means by ‘before’. “Just incentivised healthcare,” he murmurs into Bucky’s hair, placing a kiss there. “Nothing totalitarian about that.”

“…Yet,” Bucky mutters, but the annoyance has left him, seeped out with what little energy he probably had saved up from getting home and dealing with the girls. He sighs and presses his face into Steve’s neck, inhaling the combined scents of his Alpha and their infant son. “I could sleep for a week,” he says.

Steve chuckles. “Yeah me too.”

That’s when the door opens, and Winnie is preceded by two excited children. “Daddy, Daddy!”

“Papa!”

“Daddy can we hold him?”

“I want to go first!!”

“Noo I’m the oldest!”

“Can we can we pleease?!”

Bucky groans quietly and pushes his forehead into Steve’s shoulder, as if it’ll help him escape. “Fuuuck.”

Steve huffs and eyes him warningly at the curse, before putting his game face on and turning to the girls with a big smile. “Okay yes but there are rules!” 

Bucky nods, pointing at the living room carpet. “Sit. Sit on the floor if you want to hold the baby.”

Both Sarah and Becca practically throw themselves onto the carpet and sit Indian style, and then Steve tells them “Not so loud,” and Bucky watches with tired but happy eyes as his daughters hold their baby brother for the first time.

.oOo.

Winnie asks about the bris two days later. Steve’s in the kitchen making dinner, the girls are watching tv and Bucky’s got a changing pad thrown out on the living room floor, changing a diaper there because he’s too lazy to go back to the nursery when his overbearing mother is totally willing to bring him anything he needs. Winnie passes a fresh diaper down from the couch and Bucky picks Gabe’s legs up in his one hand and lays the diaper out with the other. Winnie watches the whole affair dispassionately, waiting until Bucky has the diaper secured and is maneuvering Gabe’s legs back into his onesie before she says, “We’re coming up on eight days, here. Who’s your mohel?”

Bucky’s fingers freeze on that last snap. “Coming hot right out of the gates, huh?”

Winnie huffs. “Oh god, that means you haven’t even gotten started, doesn’t it?” She throws her hands up, instantly stressed. “Honestly, James! This is a disaster. These things take a _lot_ of planning! You have to plan an invite list and mail invitations.” She glares at Bucky, “Too late for _that_. You’ll just have to call and email anybody you’re inviting.”

“Mom,”

Winnie is listing off on her fingers all the things they have to do. “You have to find kosher catering,” she snorts and gestures to the kitchen, “because we all know your wife doesn’t know how to cook,”

Steve looks up from the stove, affronted. “Hey—”

“Gabriel needs his little outfit, you’ve gotta coordinate with the local rabbi, gotta _clean this apartment up_ ,”

“Mom,”

“And baby, you just need some nice party decorations. I mean come on, who raised you?”

“Mom!!”

Winnie stops, looking at Bucky. “What?”

Bucky exhales. His eyes meet Steve’s over in the kitchen. “Girls?” Bucky says. “Go to your room and play there until Grandma gets you for dinner, kay?”

Sarah looks like she’s going to put up a fuss, but Becca just takes her hand and tells her they’ll play barbies. They leave the room, and Winnie turns her glower to Steve, then Bucky, then back again. “What’s going on?”

“Mom,” Bucky starts, trying to break it gently. “We’ve decided we’re not going to have a—”

“Oh no!”

“You didn’t let me finish!” 

Winnie has stood up from the couch. She’s pointing at Steve, angry as ever. “Your Shiksa husband has totally turned you against everything!”

Steve gestures plaintively with the spatula. “At least do me the justice of using the _male_ slur, Winnie!”

“He’s talked you out of everything!”

Bucky stands up too, getting mad just the way he hadn’t wanted to. But he can’t help it when it’s Steve she’s attacking. “Leave him alone, mom. It’s not just Steve. We came to this decision together.”

“Oh, is that so?!”

Bucky crosses his arms. “Yes!”

On the floor, Gabe starts to wriggle around and his face screws up mightily. Bucky grimaces just before the wail sounds. “Fuck.”

“Language.”

“Shut the fuck up, Steve.” Bucky is bending over to pick Gabe up, and frankly it fucking _hurts_ , and he is rapidly sinking into somekindofmood. Once he’s vertical and has Gabe in his arms, rocking him a little to get him to quiet down, he glares at his mom. “I don’t want a huge fight over this during dinner. Not with the girls around. If there’s going to be a huge fight then you need to leave.”

Winnie looks like she’s going to argue, but then she pauses and sniffs instead. “Well fine then. If that’s how you feel.” She turns on her heel and marches towards the guest bedroom. Bucky bounces Gabe and looks murderously at Steve, though Steve is smart enough to know the look isn’t for him. “Knew it,” Bucky says. 

“Babe, just be—”

“If you don’t want me here, then I won’t make myself a burden. I thought my advice meant something to you. I _thought_ I was helping with the new baby. But I guess not.” Winnie has emerged from the bedroom with her suitcase packed in startling speed, and she’s lugging it toward the apartment door. “I mean what do I know, right? I’ve only raised _four_ children. But you think you can do better. That’s fine. Mazel tov!”

Bucky sighs. “Mooom, stop being dramatic!”

“Dramatic!?”

He turns to her. “You’ve used three Yiddish words since we started arguing. You’re Jewing it up. That’s dramatic.”

Winnie's eyes go WIDE, then they get very narrow. She points at Bucky and tells him, “You’ll regret this.”

“Mom!” Bucky would gesture helplessly, but he’s got the baby in his arms. “We were still planning on having a bris!”

Winnie freezes. Her eyes flick to Steve, then back to Bucky. “What? But you _just_ said—”

“You didn’t let me finish,” Bucky grits, because he’s fucking trying to be calm and reasonable, just like he and Steve practiced. But god, does his mother make it difficult. “I was _trying_ to tell you that we want to have an alternative bris. Steve and I researched a bunch of stuff.”

Winnie seems leery of the idea, her eyes still narrowed. “‘Alternative’?” she asks, sounding suspicious but at least she’s let go of the handle of her suitcase. “What the heck does that mean?”

Bucky inhales, letting it out slowly and trying to make his lips approximate something like a welcoming smile. He tilts his head towards the kitchen. “Why don’t you stay for dinner and Steve and I can explain it? We have lots of ideas we need your input on, kay? Plus, you can help explain it to the girls.”

Winnie purses her lips. “Well…”

“Good, it’s settled.” Bucky nods towards the hallway that leads to the two main bedrooms. “Go tell the girls to wash up for dinner, yeah?”

Winnie snorts. “Yeah,” she says sarcastically, “Like you expect me to believe you have them ‘wash up’ before dinner.” She points to Bucky again, though this time there’s a hint of a smile on her face. “I know you, slob.”

Bucky waits until her back is turned and she’s going to get the girls before he rolls his eyes. He turns around and looks at Steve and mouths a silent, _‘THANK GOD’_. 

Steve nods his head with wide eyes. "Yeah."

.oOo.

“Your mom kept it pretty well together,” Steve comments as he comes into their bedroom from brushing his teeth. Bucky is laying in the bed, and he looks over, eyebrows raised. Steve shrugs. “I only saw her roll her eyes like, three times during the whole thing.”

Bucky snorts. “Yeah, I guess it was okay.”

“Are you kidding?” Steve says. He comes over and joins Bucky on the bed, sidling up to lay beside him. “Tony just threw you what was probably the most expensive bris New York’s ever seen.”

Bucky cracks out a laugh. “Yeah. Oh my god it was so ridiculous.”

“We’re the trendsetters of the liberal Jewish community.”

“Yeah why’s that? Because we circumcised a pomegranate?” Bucky laughs and shakes his head, propping himself on Steve’s chest. “Christ, what a bunch of improvised bullshit.”

Steve kisses his hair. “As long as your mom doesn’t insist on calling me a Shiksa for the rest of my life.”

Bucky hums. “Well, maybe not your whole life.”

Steve gets quiet. Just when Bucky starts to wonder why, Steve says, “I love you, you know that?”

Bucky tilts his head to peek up at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Bucky smiles. On a whim, he leans up to plant a kiss on Steve’s lips. He only means for it to be a light thing, but Steve captures him in a hold and keeps him there, deepening the kiss and turning it into something else entirely. Bucky stiffens, then _melts_. When Steve pulls away and Bucky can breathe, he huffs, “Well. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Mm.” Steve’s eyes are hooded now, and he’s looking at Bucky in that way that neither of them have had the energy or the inclination to look at each other since they left the hospital seven days ago. “Me neither, but I just remembered how much I love kissing you.” He comes back and kisses him again, gently turning Bucky’s body until he’s laying on his back, then crowding over him to kiss him again, and again. 

Bucky groans into it, belly swirling with want, but then pulling away from Steve’s advances. “Wait,” he says, “wait, wait.”

“Don’t want to wait,” Steve says, eager and turned-on. 

Bucky can feel his erection against his hip, which makes him roll his eyes. “Babe, I just pushed a baby out of me. What the fuck do you think we’re gonna do?”

Steve winces at those words, which makes Bucky nod in vindication. Any hint of arousal he’d felt for that brief second of kissing slips right away. “Not exactly sexy right now, anyway,” he mumbles, gesturing to himself. He’s got a huge tee-shirt on that he’d found in the morbidly-obese section in Walmart. It goes all the way to his knees, and he’s just fine with that. It hides… everything, which is kind of the point. “Trust me, you don’t want to,” he tells Steve, kissing him once more as if in apology. “Just go jerk off in the bathroom, kay?”

Steve looks utterly stunned where he hovers above Bucky. “What?”

Bucky shrugs, embarrassed. “I’m sorry but I—”

“Bucky, stop. Stop talking.” Steve is staring down at him like Bucky has really hurt his feelings. “I— You—” he stops, gathers his wits about him, then tries again. “You _are_ sexy, to me.”

Bucky huffs, but manages a smile for his husband. “That’s sweet babe, but—”

“No,” Steve says, and it’s firm, maybe bordering on frustrated. “No Bucky, I mean it.” He shuffles, leans over to the bedside dresser and pulls something out which he holds inside his big hand so that Bucky can’t see. He moves so that he’s up and sitting against the pillows at the headboard. “Come here.”

Bucky gapes. “What? No.” He laughs in embarrassment. “Come on Steve, I’m tired. Let’s go to sleep.”

“Bucky, _COME HERE_.”

Bucky’s eyes widen. It’s his _Voice_. Steve has just used his Voice on him, and Bucky honestly can’t remember the last time he did that. Slowly, Bucky moves to obey. “ _What_ has gotten into you?” he asks, once he’s seated with his back to Steve’s chest.

Steve hands grab his shoulders and firmly pull him back against Steve’s body. It’s not rough, but it’s certainly not gentle. Bucky swallows. “You mad?” He doesn’t smell mad. He smells…

“No.” Steve’s voice is quiet, serious. 

“Than what are you doing?”

“I’m educating you,” Steve says. His hands knead Bucky’s shoulders. “And you’re going to be quiet the whole time. You’re not allowed to talk.” He pauses to let this sink in, before he tells Bucky, “If you disobey me, I’ll use my Voice. Do you understand?”

Bucky swallows, then nods. “Okay, Steve.” Feeling squirmy, he tries hard to relax back into Steve’s hold. He knows Steve would never hurt him, would never use his Voice to manipulate him into something bad. “What, uh, what did you get out of the dresser?”

Steve nips his ear, making Bucky squeak. “ _NO TALKING_.” Bucky's mouth snaps shut, and Steve seems satisfied. He moves behind Bucky, and then his arms are coming around and putting something to Bucky’s throat, and _oh_ , it’s Bucky’s collar.

Collars aren’t something people do at weddings or even bonding ceremonies anymore. They haven’t been worn publicly for over a century. But Bucky can still remember the first time he’d seen one, part of a display at the mall, tucked discreetly in the way back of one of the department stores. Something private and meant only for lovers. He’d been twenty five when Steve had given him his.

Steve places the collar around his neck now, fastening it in the back. It’s a simple thing, pretty but masculine and hardly more than a black strip of fabric. Still, it makes Bucky’s toes curl and his insides squirm, as his husband puts it on him. _This_ is Steve reminding him of their bond, of the true, intimate nature of it; Alpha and omega. Capitol A, lowercase o.

That’s how Bucky _knows_ that he truly loves Steve; because he’s able to give that to Steve, and give it without Xanax or any other kind of mind-altering substance in his system. It’s a miracle that, after all Bucky went through during those four horrible years of abuse, he still wants to give it to anyone. _Only Steve_ , he thinks, as his fingers linger over the fabric, petting at Bucky’s neck. _Only his husband_. 

Steve uses Bucky’s sudden complacence from the collar to force his tee shirt off him and over his head. He tosses it to the floor and holds Bucky back against him before he can protest. “You’re mine,” he says, and still it’s quiet. It’s sweet, not mean. He nuzzles into Bucky’s hair. “I love everything about you Bucky. Everything. And it makes me very unhappy when I see that you’re not feeling good about yourself. It hurts me.”

Bucky whimpers, finally realizing exactly where this is going, but he doesn’t struggle to try and get away. He knows that Steve would stop him if he tried. He remains still.

Steve’s hands touch Bucky’s shoulders, his left one touching with more purpose than the right. He strokes his thumb over the seam of metal and flesh and says. “This arm is amazing. I love it, I love that you have it. Do you know why?” Bucky doesn’t answer because he knows Steve is just going to tell him. “It’s not because I like you with it more than I like you without it,” Steve says. “It’s because I know it makes you happy. I know you like being able to do things again, being fully able-bodied.” He bends and kisses the metal just at the top, then moves over and traces the tip of his tongue on the edge where there is scar tissue. Bucky inhales at the feeling. “But if it hadn’t mattered to you? If you hadn’t wanted to go through with the surgery?” Steve says. “I’d have kept on loving your body the way it was. I know you hated the way the amputation site looked, even when it was all healed.” Bucky nods firmly, just _having_ to answer that one, even though he’s not allowed to talk. Steve hums. “I liked it just as much as any other part of you, you know. I never told you that because I knew you wouldn’t agree, and because I was afraid you’d think it meant I approved of what they did to you.” Bucky whimpers, because he knows that’s not true. “Yeah,” Steve says. “Yeah it was wrong. But I loved your body the way it was. I would’ve touched you there more, kissed you there, but I never did because I knew you’d hate it. Did you know that?”

Bucky is breathing heavier, overwhelmed by what Steve is telling him. And he knows Steve’s not lying. He shakes his head to answer him.

“Hm. No, you didn’t, did you?” Steve is quiet again then, spends a long moment running his hands up and down Bucky’s arms, tickling the skin on his right and rubbing the metal plates on the left. “You’re strong now though, and that’s beautiful too.” His hands move back up, wrapping around Bucky’s collared throat. It’s a gentle Hold, making Bucky purr and relax despite himself. “There you go sweetheart,” Steve says, shifting as Bucky relaxes fully against him. “That’s what I wanted. I’m gonna tell you things now, Buck. M’gonna tell you exactly how I feel about your body. And it’s got nothing to do about how you feel. We’re just gonna pretend for a minute that I don’t care how you feel.” He gives his hands a light, reassuring squeeze on Bucky’s throat. “I just want you to know what I see. And _YOU'RE GOING TO BELIEVE IT_.” 

Alphas can bend wills, but not minds. They can’t make their omegas actually _believe_ things just by using their Voice, not really. But all the same Bucky understands what Steve is telling him. He’s saying, _this is my opinion, and it’s nonnegotiable_. Bucky swallows heavily, knowing that he’s really in for it now.

One of Steve’s hands leaves his throat and goes up to cup face, fingers stroking over his cheek, his jaw. “Don’t remember the last time I saw you shave,” he says. At Bucky’s grunt, he chuckles. “Yeah, I know. But I like that. I like how smooth you get, during. It was like that with Sarah, too, wasn’t it?” Bucky nods, because he knows Steve is waiting for him to. “Hm, yeah.” Steve tips Bucky’s head to the side so that he can press a kiss to his cheek, then lick at the corner of his jaw. “That’s the least of my favorite things about you, when you’re pregnant.”

The fight in Bucky has largely left him. He knows because he’s miraculously able to keep all the snotty thing he would usually say to himself. Things like, “M’not a fucking girl, Steve,” or “I’m growing a full fucking beard when this is over, Rogers.” He just keeps his mouth shut, obeying Steve and not exactly hating it, either. 

“I love your chest,” Steve says, and that’s the only warning Bucky gets before Steve’s hands are coming down and cupping him there. Bucky inhales sharply, and Steve must be able to sense his distress because he shushes him and kisses over his scent gland. “No, just listen baby.” His hands are large enough to fully cover Bucky’s pecs, even with the way that they’re bigger now. _Breasts_ , is what they are, technically, though Bucky hates thinking of them that way, and hates knowing that Steve _likes_ thinking of them that way. “I get so hot when I see you,” Steve is saying. “When you’re feeding Gabe? Fuck, it turns me on. I feel guilty about it even, for having such a dirty mind.” Bucky huffs in a way that says, _yeah you’re a big old pervert, Steve_ , but he doesn’t say anything. Steve lets it go. His thumbs start to rub circles around Bucky’s nipples, gently because he knows Bucky gets sore. “It’s a hindbrain thing, you know? I just love seeing you taking care of our baby that way.” Right in Bucky’s ear, he whispers, “Makes me want to put another one in you.”

Bucky whimpers, and he knows if Steve hadn’t commanded him not to, if he hadn’t reinforced the order by putting Bucky’s collar on him, that he’d be verbally protesting by now. But he stays pliant and lets Steve continue the torturous lesson. “One day I’m gonna suck on ‘em until milk comes out,” Steve says, and _that_ makes Bucky’s cock jerk, even though it shouldn’t because he feels humiliated at that idea, his cheeks burning hot at the mental image of his alpha nursing at his chest. He whines and shifts, relieved when Steve tugs him firmly back in place, putting a stop to his protest. Bucky quiets.

“Not finished,” Steve says. His hands give one last squeeze to Bucky’s chest, then they’re moving down. 

Bucky’s heart gives an unbearable lurch at the feeling of Steve’s fingers touching the skin of his stomach, where not even ten days ago there was a baby in him. He cries out despite himself, hand grabbing one of Steve’s wrists to halt his motions. “Please,” he says, voice trembling, and Steve freezes. “Please, not there. M’not ready.” His voice is strained and his throat actually hurts from the physical act of disobeying him. “Please.”

For a long second, it’s not clear what Steve will do, but then he softens and his hands don’t touch Bucky’s stomach anymore. “Okay,” he says, and Bucky is desperately relieved that Steve isn’t angry with him for disobeying, isn’t disappointed. “Okay, another time.” His hands go to Bucky’s hips, one of them sinking lower to find Bucky’s erection. He cups it and asks, “Then there’s this. You going to let me tell you how much I love your sweet little cock?” His fingers curl around it, gently jerking in the barest of motions before Bucky can even nod his head. Steve rumbles an approving growl in his chest. “It’s perfect,” he tells him. “S’exactly what an omega’s cock should be.” He hooks his chin over Bucky’s shoulder in a way that tells Bucky that he’s looking straight down to where he’s touching him. “So pretty. Small enough to fit right in my hand. Rosy-pink, but it gets darker the longer I touch you for, doesn’t it? Gets hard so easy, leaks constantly, jerks around just from this.” He illustrates the point by holding the head between his thumb and forefinger, rubbing gently back and forth. His fingers are shiny and wet already from the precome Bucky’s producing, and the slick stimulation feels wonderful. Bucky can’t help but to let his hips thrust up a little. Steve chuckles. “Yeah. You’re so easy for me. I get to watch you come as many times as I want.” He brings his other hand down and taps Bucky’s balls with it. Bucky keens. “Mm, thaat’s it. I’m trying to think what your record is.” Steve makes a noise like he’s thinking hard about it. “Two is your absolute minimum, but I think I’ve gotten you to seven before.” He jerks his hand over Bucky’s cock faster then, tight and slick and not stopping. He’s angling to make him come. 

Bucky _wails_.

When Steve feels Bucky’s come fill his hand, he moans and praises him, rolling his free hand into Bucky’s inner thigh and grabbing him there, digging his nails in and pulling to get Bucky to further spread his legs. “ _God_ , sweetheart,” Steve is saying, sounding more turned on than ever. “That’s so fucking hot when you do that.” Behind, Steve’s cock is a heavy weight against Bucky’s back. “Yeah, love your little cock,” he says. “But that’s not your favorite way to come, is it?”

Bucky whimpers, because _no, it’s not_ , but Steve knows that goddamn him. But he’s just going to keep on talking.

“Naw, you like it here.” Steve’s hand pulls harder on Bucky’s thigh, forcing him to keep his legs wide open. He hooks his ankles over Bucky’s own and Bucky is thoroughly pinned, exposed. Steve’s hand slips back between his legs, past his balls and over his slick taint. His fingers find his hole, which by now is soaking wet from his orgasm and clenching rhythmically. It flutters against Steve’s fingertips, making him groan. “This cunt,” he says, smiling against the skin of Bucky’s neck at the high-pitched whine he gets for that. “Yeah, you heard me.” He rubs his fingertip gently over it, not pressing at all, but Bucky still whimpers and trembles in his arms. “Shh, sh. I know you’re sore, honey.” Steve moves his fingers back to Bucky’s perineum and just runs them against the skin there, through the slick his body has released. “You’re healing still, I know. You carried our son in you, and you went through so much to do it.” Steve kisses Bucky’s neck reverently. “One day, when you’re all better, I’m going to eat you out for hours, and I’m not going to stop until you’ve come at least three times just from that.”

Bucky _sobs_ at that proclamation, because it sounds impossible. He’s never come more than once on Steve’s tongue and they both know it. He always winds up wanting more, and then more. 

Steve hushes him and rubs him more firmly behind his balls. “Does this hurt?” he asks.

Bucky shakes his head almost desperately, which makes Steve laugh.

“No? It feels good?”

Bucky nods. His prick is fully hard again.

“Can you come just from this?”

Another shake of the head. 

Steve nips at Bucky’s scent gland from over the fabric of the collar. “Then wrap your hand around that pretty little cock of yours and masturbate while I rub your cunt.” 

Bucky groans. He’s pretty sure Steve is just using language like that to embarrass him now. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like it. He slides his by now trembling hand down to his cock, tugging it firmly. Steve makes a filthy noise from behind, and Bucky knows it’s because he’s watching him. The fingers behind his balls rub harder.

An alpha also can’t use their Voice to force physical reaction out of their omega. Steve can’t _make_ Bucky come just by telling him to. But he sure does do a good imitation of it, when he gives Bucky all the right stimulation and waits until he can tell that he’s _right_ on the edge, then wraps his big hand around Bucky’s neck and squeezes hard enough to cut off his breath. “Come,” he growls in his ear, pulsing harder then ever right into the angle that hits Bucky’s prostate. Bucky’s fist seizes, and he shoots into orgasm.

.oOo.

Bucky does better with his body issues, after that night. He still asks Steve to respect his Walmart tee-shirt boundaries until he’s a little more back to normal, but he also lets him explore his body in ways that he never would have before (Steve _does_ develop a fetish for sucking his tits hard enough to get milk leaking into his mouth). 

Gabe remains intact and Winnie stops caring. 

They have another, more planned-out talk with the girls about sex and private parts. 

Tony’s the one to figure out a way to get the prosthesis glove to register sensory input, much to Bucky’s chagrin. 

Bucky gets his Xanax back, and he and Clint continue getting regular pedicures on the government's dime.


End file.
